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“Aren’t you bothered by the heat?”
Sam jumped, startled. Frodo watched as he fumbled his trowel, nearly dropping it. “S’cuse me?”
“It’s dreadfully hot out right now. All that weeding must be rotten work.” Frodo, who leaned out of an open window, rested his elbows on the sill. He eyed the bits of crabgrass and foxtail that peeked out of the pail at Sam’s side. “Especially with no clouds to block the sun.”
“No, sir, I’m not bothered,” Sam replied with an awkward smile, raising a gloved hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I’m used to it, really. Don’t you go worrying about me.”
Frodo found that hard to believe. Not that Sam was uncomfortable outdoors – it was well known that Sam loved fresh air and sunshine – but that he was unbothered by the weather. The sun was high in the sky, and the mid-summer heat bore down in oppressive waves, piling atop everything like layers upon layers of itchy woolen blankets. There wasn’t even the slightest breeze for relief; the air stood stale and stagnant. Frodo was hard-pressed for a reason anyone might leave the cool comfort of their home. Especially Sam, whose face and shoulders were already singed pink from the previous day.
“Are you quite sure you’re alright? Why, I’m sweating up a storm, and I’m halfway indoors!”
Sam paused for a moment. “...Well,” he began. “Perhaps that’s why I’m the one doing the gardening.”
His tone was light and teasing, and the sound brought a smile to Frodo’s face. Such familiarities were rarer than he’d like, though they’d been growing closer as of late. Bit by bit, Frodo chipped away at the social barrier that kept them apart, and he was thrilled to see the cracks beginning to show.
“My dear Samwise!” Frodo gasped, raising a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Are you implying something about me?”
“Nothing bad, sir. Just that you could stand to get a little more sun.”
“I get plenty of sun.”
Sam grinned. “Oh, sure. Once a year. At your- I mean, Mr. Bilbo’s birthday party.”
“Well, you could stand to get a little more shade!” Frodo huffed, folding his arms.
Laughing, Sam gestured to the clusters of foxglove that stood down the garden path. They weren’t yet fully grown, but were already nearing five feet in height. With Sam’s green thumb, they’d eventually tower well over six. “Shade’s on the way, mind you. Just got to wait ‘till it’s finished growing.”
“Yes, but they won’t be finished for a long while yet!” replied Frodo. “Perhaps, in the meantime, you could come and cool off inside?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Frodo,” Sam insisted, the curtain of formality falling closed between them once more. “Beg your pardon, but I’d be a pretty shoddy gardener if a little heat scared me off my work.”
“...Alright, fine. I’ll leave you be.”
Satisfied – if a bit awkward – Sam returned to weeding, humming a gentle tune to himself while he tugged at a particularly stubborn growth of crabgrass. Frodo frowned. Their conversation hadn’t gone at all like he’d hoped. He’d hate for Sam to fall ill from the heat – exhaustion and blistered burns seemed equally terrible – doubly so knowing that Sam subjected himself to such conditions out of obligation.
Simply asking would be no good – Sam was stubborn as a mule when he set his mind to something. What Frodo needed was a way to coax him inside. But how?
Slipping off the windowsill and swinging the shutters closed, Frodo began to wander the halls of Bag End. He weaved around the kitchen table, walked past the cellar door, shuffled through his study, and then looped around to the parlor, where he began to pace.
Chin in his hand, Frodo puzzled over how to get his Sam into the shade. His usual tactic, offering hot tea and all the delightful snacks that accompanied it, seemed ill-suited for the task. Something warm, however delicious it may be, would only turn a hobbit away during such miserable heat. He’d have to save it until Sam was sufficiently cooled.
Thoroughly stumped, Frodo flopped down onto his sofa – and immediately jumped back to his feet with a yelp of pain. He hadn’t been looking, and sat directly on something he’d left on the cushion, jabbing himself in the leg with its sharp end.
Great. Now he was frustrated and annoyed. Curse his rotten luck! He must have left his assailant there when it last rained. He reached down to pick it up, determined to put it back by the coatrack where it belonged.
Then, as he held it in his hands, feeling its weight, an idea began to form.
Slowly, a grin spread across Frodo’s face. It was perfect.
Sam regretted rejecting Frodo’s invitation.
He still fretted about keeping things professional between them, of course. Frodo was his employer, after all – he’d likely not give Sam much thought if it weren’t for the convenience of their arrangement. It was much easier to make conversation with someone in your backyard than to head all the way down to the Green Dragon and hope to be entertained.
But even so.
The air was thick and heavy, and the sun beat down on Sam’s back in unrelenting waves. His arms twinged with pain as he emptied his bucket into the compost bin. He was grimy, sweaty, and tired. There was still work to be done, though, and he’d look rather foolish if he asked to come in after he’d refused with such finality. So Sam moved on to the next bed of flowers that needed weeding.
He reached for a bit of foxtail. A shadow fell over him, blocking out the sun.
Confused, Sam looked over his shoulder. There stood Frodo, eyes sparkling with mischief as he held an umbrella above Sam’s head. “Hello, Sam.”
“What are you doing?”
“Since you so stubbornly refused to come inside for some shade, I figured I’d do you a favor and bring the shade outside.”
Sam gawked. “Well, that’s- that’s mighty kind of you, but I’d hate for you to get-”
“Overheated?” Frodo quirked a brow. “Burned? Tired?”
“...Erm. Yes.” Sam felt quite silly all of a sudden. “Besides, you’ve got other things that need doing, don’t you?”
“Nothing more important than taking care of you, my dear Sam.”
Sam’s already-red cheeks flushed a shade or two darker. “Still!”
“Why don’t we both go inside?” suggested Frodo. “Then, after a nice long break, I’ll come help you in the garden. That way, you’ll get your shade, I’ll get my sun, and the work will be finished much faster.” He extended a hand. “Deal?”
Sam stared at his friend’s hand for a moment, considering the offer. Then he took it, pulling himself to his feet with a smile.
“Deal.”